


Heavy Lifting

by 1VulgarWoman



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Swearing, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-01 14:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16766626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1VulgarWoman/pseuds/1VulgarWoman
Summary: Two-part gym AU. When Bulma adjusts her workout schedule to avoid her ex, she becomes intrigued by a sexy, unfriendly stranger. Contains graphic lemony goodness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I now present you with the lemony gym AU that nobody asked for. This is what happens when my perverted mind is bored at the gym. Sorry, not sorry. Part I stays fairly PG-13. The smut is in Part II. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own DB or these characters.

Bulma released a sigh as she pulled her bone-tired self out of the car, adding her current inconvenience to the growing list of reasons she cursed her philandering ex-boyfriend.

She hated exercising after work. All she wanted after a long day of number crunching and ass kissing was to slip into a hot bubble bath with a glass of pinot noir and her ‘relax and unwind’ playlist. Instead, she was dragging her tired (but cute) ass into the gym far later than she ever had before, all in some girly attempt to avoid running into the asshat who had given up the best thing to ever happen to him: her.

After reassuring herself of the absence of a certain person’s motorbike, Bulma grabbed her gym bag and forced herself to walk towards the entrance.

As she stepped up on the sidewalk, an obnoxiously huge pickup truck squealed into the handicapped spot in front of the door, parking crooked so it took up the spot next to it too. The door opened, and the decidedly not handicapped driver jumped out.

Bulma couldn’t help but smirk to herself as she eyed the hoodie-clad figure. She could have predicted his hight, or lack thereof, by the size of his truck alone.

His lack of hight aside, she couldn’t help but admire the broad expanse of his shoulders in contrast to the narrowness of his hips as he sauntered up to the door like he owned the place. She had been so sure of his obliviousness to her presence that she was taken aback when he paused with the door held open, waiting with obvious impatience for her to enter.

A begrudging pang of attraction zinged through her body as she saw his face, framed by his black hood, for the first time. It was a face straight our of her naughtiest dreams. Square jaw. Straight, aristocratic nose. Angular and masculine, but not quite pretty enough to be called conventionally handsome. She had never cared much for pretty boys.

She greatly preferred bad men.

What was it about rejection that did it for her like no other goddam thing on earth? Flowers and candlelit dinners and all the coveted romantic overtures that women were supposed to go bonkers for had nothing on the way this stranger scowlingly avoided even glancing her way as she walked past him. He radiated indifference, and it had her creaming her panties like a randy teenager.

Never one to back down from a perceived challenge, she offered him her most disarming smile, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she thanked him sweetly.

“Hrm,” he replied infuriatingly, eyes still firmly averted, and fuck if her panties didn’t get even wetter.

She was sure her therapist would have some interesting things to say about that. Not that it stopped her from imagining him eyeing her backside as he followed her into the gym.

A genuine smile lit up her face as she saw Krillin behind the front counter.

“Hey, Bulma! What are you doing here so late?” he asked innocently, obviously pleased to see her too.

Bulma sighed, digging around in her purse to find her membership card.

“I’m sure Yamcha told you we broke up,” she explained as she waved her card in front of the scanner.

Krillin rubbed the back of his neck, giving her an awkward grin.

“Yeah, he…uh…”

A loud huff behind her made Bulma jump. She turned to see the unfriendly stranger scowling at Krillin, thick arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, hey, Vegeta. I didn’t see you come in.”

“Hm.”

Vegeta, was it? Bulma made a mental note to question Krillin about him later.

Alone in the women’s locker room, Bulma rifled through her gym bag, grateful that she’d packed a few different workout attire options besides the ratty sweatpants and Capsule Corp. tee she had originally planned on wearing. In the end, she opted for a pair of skin-tight yoga pants that enhanced her already amazing assets and a matching sports bra. She swept her hair up into a high ponytail, exposing the long, ivory column of her neck.

Satisfied that she looked as irresistible as humanly possible, she grabbed her water bottle and headphones and headed back out into the gym.

Her eyes immediately zeroed in on their target over by the weight racks. As she made her way to the cardio section, she watched him from the corner of her eye. He was on the floor, performing a series of yoga stretches she knew from painful experience weren’t nearly as easy as he made them look. The man was surprisingly limber for someone packing that much muscle mass.

Bulma paused in front of the long row of treadmills. It had originally been her intention to push through a half-hour interval training session and call it a night, but her view would be so much better from the top of the stair climber.

Feeling deliciously wicked, she ascended the machine with the best view of the weight racks. The streaming app she opened on her phone was purely a ruse at this point. A certain sexy stranger was unwittingly providing her with something more interesting to watch than Netflix.

Half an hour later, Vegeta had moved on from stretches to dead lifts, and Bulma found herself frustrated that he had yet to take off his hoodie so she could get a better look at the muscles that bulged and rippled beneath it. He must be doing it just to spite her, she decided. The gym was pretty stingy with the air conditioning, and her sports bra had a dark strip down the middle where the sweat was starting to pool between her breasts. With the amount of exertion he was putting out, surely he had to be sweating too. Just what was this guy’s problem, anyway?

She couldn’t help being impressed by the amount of weight he lifted without uttering so much as a single grunt. She had seen countless other guys in this gym huff and puff and clank their weights down on the floor, but this guy was in total control of every movement and every breath.

From the hood half-hiding his face to his careful silence, he seemed to be trying to remain invisible. And there was something else about him, something in his quiet movements and stoic expression that looked very…lonely.

It seemed strange that someone so physically appealing could ever be lonely, but Bulma knew better than anyone that sometimes the top was the loneliest place to be.

After forty-five minutes on the stair climber, she decided to call it a night. But not before satisfying her curiosity about the mysterious, quiet stranger she had been eyeing for the past hour.

She collected her things, not bothering to change out of her gym clothes since she was going straight home anyway, and approached Krillin at the front desk.

Five minutes later, she strutted out the door armed with several interesting pieces of information about the enigmatic Vegeta.

First, she learned that he was one of the owners of the gym and that he was an MMA fighter, like her ex and most of her friends. Second, that he was a really damn good one, currently ranked second in his division behind her best friend, Goku. And, most importantly, that he was at the gym every evening like clockwork and had, thus far, never brought a woman with him. Or a guy, either.

The next morning, Bulma packed her gym bag like she was gearing up for war. She threw in extra deodorant, cosmetics, and dry shampoo, along with an assortment of her most flattering gym wear and the seldom-used weightlifting gloves Yamcha had given her.

As she approached the gym that evening, she was pleased to see a certain embarrassingly large pickup parked in the handicapped spot. If nothing else, her weird and admittedly kinda creepy obsession with a total stranger made it a lot easier to get her cute butt into the gym on time.

After checking in and exchanging a few words with Krillin at the front desk, Bulma scoped out her target, immediately disappointed to see that damned hoodie again. He appeared to have finished his stretches and was loading up one of the squat racks with an absurd number of plates. Well, she could do with a good leg workout, she decided with a devious grin as she made her way to the locker room.

Ten minutes later, she emerged in a tiny pair of bike shorts that left the smooth length of her legs tantalizingly bare paired with a matching sports bra and backless tank top. Instead of pulling her hair back, she’d twisted it into two braids that hung down over her mostly-bare shoulders. She even thought the fingerless weightlifting gloves added a certain something to the look. Surely, even Mr. Grumpy-and-Aloof couldn’t help but notice her looking like this.

Pretending a confidence she didn’t necessarily feel, she strutted across the gym to where the squat racks were. She had lifted with Yamcha a few times while they were together. It wasn’t really her thing, but sometimes between both their busy schedules, it was the only way to get any time with him. Squatting was one of the few things she found any use for apart from their joint workouts. Anything to hang onto her high, tight ass for a few more years.

After a couple warm-up stretches, she slipped two medium-sized plates onto the bar and began her workout in ernest. Five sets of ten should do the trick. She noticed that the bar was set a bit high for her diminutive frame, but decided not to worry about it, especially since she had no idea how to lower it by herself. It meant she had to push up on her toes just a bit to replace the bar between sets; nothing she couldn’t handle.

About half way into her second set, Bulma actually found herself slipping into what Yamcha used to call ‘the zone.’ The burn in her muscles started to drown out the frustration and overwhelm of her daily grind as she breathed in time to the music blaring through her bluetooth earbuds.

By the end of her fourth set, she had almost forgotten she wasn’t alone in the gym. Her thighs trembled with effort, but she was determined to finish her last set. Bulma Briefs had never been one to back down to a challenge, even a self-imposed one. Especially a self-imposed one.

As she strained upwards to replace the bar, her trembling intensified, and for a terrifying moment, she felt the bar slipping backwards, out of her control.

“Shit,” she groaned between gritted teeth as she strained against the unforgiving pull of gravity.

With a suddenness that left her momentarily stunned, the weight was lifted from her shoulders, and the bar dropped back into its cradle with a resounding “clank.”

She caught a flash of a battle-scarred hand from the corner of her eye, felt the heat of a hulking presence at her back, for a split second before it moved quickly away.

Turning, she looked straight into Vegeta’s scowling face, still framed by that goddamned black hoodie.

Summoning her most charming damsel-in-distress smile, she pulled out one of her earbuds before addressing him.

“Wow, thanks,” she said, still smiling in the face of his persistent frown. “I almost got my cute ass handed to me there, huh?”

“Hm,” Vegeta grunted, eyeing her critically with his arms crossed over his chest.

Without another word —or grunt — he stomped first to one side of the rack, then the other, lowering the bar to the appropriate hight before turning to walk away.

“I really appreciate your help,” Bulma called to his retreating back, pleased that she had at least forced him to look at her, if only for a few seconds. Mr. Cold Shoulder had also been concerned about her safety, which counted as another small victory in her book. She could work with that.

She started to declare another victory when he turned at her words, but his indifferent glare immediately put a damper on her enthusiasm.

“Whatever,” he all but growled. But, damn it all, that deep, sandpapery voice was ridiculously sexy. “I just don’t want to deal with the lawsuit when your incompetent ass gets itself injured.”

Bulma felt her friendly smile contort into a scowl only rivaled by the one across from her.

“Well, excuse me for trying,” she shot back, hands balling into tight little fists at her sides.

To her surprise, and annoyance, his lips actually quirked upwards in what could almost pass for a grin.

“No point,” he growled, crossing his arms again, assessing her coldly. “You’re pathetically weak, and your form sucks. We offer Zumba classes in the mornings. That might be more your speed.”

He spat the word ‘Zumba’ out like it was the most embarrassing thing in the world. Fuck him. She loved that Zumba class, but that was currently beside the point.

Suddenly, she felt her forehead wrinkle as something occurred to her —something hidden behind his venomous words. He had obviously been watching her closely enough to have made a judgement on her form, and she was just vain enough to assume he had to have noticed other things about her as well. Her quick brian spotted a potential weakness to exploit, and she waisted no time jumping on it.

She cocked her hip, pushed out her chest, and shot him a coy grin.

“So, you noticed my form, huh? Well, maybe instead of insulting me, you could give me some pointers.” She pointedly let her gaze roam over the pleasing expanse of his upper body. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

She let just enough suggestiveness seep into her tone to get the message across, grinning as realization sparked in his dark eyes.

If there was one thing her twenties had taught her, it was that getting a guy’s mind to turn towards sex was ridiculously simple, and, once there, he would be putty in her hands. Men were so easy it was almost unfair, like shooting fish in a barrel. Hardly even a challenge.

Vegeta’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks darkened in what could almost pass for a blush. He sputtered nonsensically for several seconds before regaining his usually unflappable composure.

“What?” he growled. “Silly girl, I don’t have time to fix your incompetence. I have my own training to do.”

Now it was Bulma’s turn to sputter. No man had ever turned down such an obvious invitation from her before. She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or furious. Didn’t this arrogant asshole know who she was? She was Bulma fucking Briefs, goddamnit. He should be thanking his lucky stars that she had deigned to flirt with the likes of him.

To make matters worse, the prick actually had the audacity to look smug, turning just enough to grin at her over his shoulder.

“Baldy at the front counter can sign you up for that Zumba class. Might help you work off some of your frustration.”

“Rrrrrrr….Asshole!” she grumbled, turning on her heel and marching angrily in the opposite direction.

His infuriating chuckle followed her all the way to the locker room.

Most women would have crumbled in the face of such blatant rejection, but Bulma Briefs was not most women. She arrived at the gym same time the next evening, armed with skin-tight yoga pants and a matching sports bra that exposed the smooth, flat plane of her stomach and most of her cleavage. No way in hell was she backing down to that uptight little shit head. If anything, she was now more determined than ever to have him eating out of the palm of her hand.

She was the first to arrive, so she took her time setting the scene. She claimed an empty bench and loaded a couple small weights onto the bar. Right on cue, she heard Krillin greet Vegeta, who predictably responded with a bored grunt.

Smiling conspiratorially to herself, she lay back on the bench, letting her legs fall apart as she braced her hands on the bar above her head. At the top of every rep, she made sure to squeeze her chest, like Yamcha had showed her, accenting her cleavage in her tiny sports bra that barely qualified as actual clothing.

The plan worked even better than she had anticipated. After only a couple more reps, an imposing shadow eclipsed the harsh florescent lighting, and Vegeta’s maddeningly attractive scowl came into view.

Bulma paused with the bar held straight out above her, arching one blue brow questioningly at him.

“You’re going to injure your wrists gripping the bar like that,” Vegeta grumbled down at her.

“Huh?” Bulma asked, her brain momentarily stunned by the glimpse of washboard abs she was getting beneath his sweatshirt.

Warm, calloused hands covered hers, rotating them until they were properly positioned on the bar. Instantly, the pressure she hadn’t realized was building in her delicate wrists eased, and she smiled up at him in genuine gratitude.

“Thanks,” she said. Never one to pass up an opportunity to tease him, she added, “I thought you didn’t have time to fix my incompetence?”

Maddeningly, he just grinned, giving her a noncommittal shrug as he moved off to start his own workout.

Bulma went through the rest of her upper body workout with a bemused smile on her face. Vegeta had actually initiated contact with her. Sure, he had spoken all of one sentence, but it was a start. He wasn’t as indifferent to her as he might try to pretend. She had seen a tiny glimpse of a softer side beneath his rough facade and was now more determined than ever to get him to show her more of it.

She was just finishing the last of her incline sit-ups when she caught Vegeta’s gaze in the mirrored wall. He smirked at her reflection before turning away, peeling his hoodie off with deliberate slowness.

Bulma nearly had to pick her jaw up out of her lap. He wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath the hoodie, and his body was nothing short of sculpted perfection. She let herself stare openly while his back was turned, watching the tantalizing progress of a drop of sweat as it trickled down from his shoulder to pool in the mouthwatering dimples just above the waistband of his shorts.

Holy shit.

When he started to turn back around, her first instinct was to look away, but Bulma stopped herself. She deliberately locked eyes with him in the mirror again, giving him a tiny smile of acknowledgement before striding towards the women’s locker room with every appearance of calm collectedness. Inwardly, however, she had turned to a quivering pile of goo.

Not bothering to change, she simply splashed water on her face and reapplied deodorant before shouldering her bag and exiting the locker room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Vegeta like magnets. He had moved to a remote corner of the gym where a punching bag was suspended from the ceiling. It swung back and forth as he pummeled it with flowing, precise punches and the occasional kick, his movements as graceful and controlled as a dancer’s.

Like a moth to the flame, she found herself moving in his direction. Vegeta glanced up at her as she approached but didn’t stop his assault on the punching bag.

Bulma dropped her things and boldly went to stand beside the bag, bracing her weight against it to stop it from swinging, like she had seen her friends do for each other sometimes. To her relief, Vegeta shot her a grateful look before continuing.

God, he’s sexy, Bulma thought as she watched him unabashedly. Every movement he made was sensuous and precise. Those finely sculpted muscles bulged and contracted beneath caramel colored skin that glistened with sweat. If the effort it took for her to keep the bag still was any indication, he was every bit as strong as he looked, and, even then, she was suspicious he was holding back for her sake. What would it be like to have that much raw power trapped between her thighs?

Unf.

“Damn. I sure wouldn’t want to be your opponent in a fight,” she observed smilingly as a particularly powerful right hook threw her a little off balance.

Vegeta gifted her the most genuine smile she’d seen from him yet, which wasn’t exactly saying much, before stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his glove.

“That’s funny, considering your company sponsors my rival,” he remarked, nodding towards the Capsule Corp. emblem on her gym bag.

Bulma laughed. “Looks like Goku’s going to need all the help he can get.”

Vegeta just smirked at her in response. Clearly, he was a man of few words, even in one of his friendlier moods.

“I’m Bulma, by the way,” she said suddenly, offering him her hand.

Vegeta lifted his hand as if to reach for hers, but he stopped before they touched, glancing down at his gloved hand with a frown.

“I’m, uh…sweaty,” he mumbled, suddenly back to avoiding eye contact.

Bulma dropped her hand, internally chastising herself for being turned on by the small rejection. Shit, she had been so close to touching him, even if was only a handshake. Part of her wanted to tell him that she didn’t give a flying fuck if he was sweaty. In fact, so much the better. But, for now, she decided tactical retreat was her best option.

“Okay, then,” she said, her smile never wavering in the face of his surliness. “Have a nice night.”

She picked up her gym bag and hefted it onto her shoulder. Just as she was turning to leave, that gruff, sexy voice stopped her.

“It’s Vegeta.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t help smirking at his expression, which was wavering somewhere between annoyed and sheepish.

“Nice to officially meet you, Vegeta,” she said.

He acknowledged her sentiment with a grunt before returning his attention to the punching bag.

~0~

“Hey, homeboy!”

Vegeta let the weights clank down harder than usual at the sound of her voice behind him.

He didn’t need this distraction right now. His big fight with Kakarot was in a little over two months, and there was no way he was going to lose to that ridiculous clown of a fighter again.  
Every evening for the past week, the woman had strutted around in his normally empty sanctuary, skimpily clad and always hovering somewhere in his peripheral vision. She was impossible not to notice with her petite curves, creamy skin, and that fascinating blue hair. He absolutely hated her.

Or wanted to, anyway. It was difficult when she was so damned friendly in the face of his surliness. Well, except for that one time he had pissed her off. He had formed a begrudging respect for her after the way she stood up for herself, somehow managing to look even more beautiful with her blue eyes flashing in anger. That might have had something to do with the foolish impulse he had felt to show off for her like some stupid, preening peacock. Fuck, he was an idiot.

The bitch was probably spying for the enemy, after all. She had fucked up by letting him see the Capsule Corp. emblem on her gym bag. Either that, or she was sent here by Kakarot’s people to distract him from his training. As he turned and saw her shapely form covered only by a few scraps of skin-tight spandex, he feared their plan was succeeding. And he was rapidly losing his will to resist.

Bulma flounced up to him, blue ponytail swinging behind her, only stopping when she was close enough for him to smell the sweet, floral aroma that emanated from her smooth skin.

“So, if all these sexy muscles are any indication, you seem to know what you’re doing in here.” His skin flinched beneath her touch as she boldly trailed her fingers along his bicep, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “I’d like your opinion, if you’ve got a minute.”

Fighting the urge to puff out his chest at her praise of his physique (and pretending that this hadn’t been exactly what he’d had in mind when he chose to wear a sleeveless tee instead of his usual hoodie), Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest before replying.

“I don’t have a minute,” he answered gruffly. To his own surprise, he found himself backtracking without a second thought the instant Bulma’s smile faltered. He was doomed.

Vegeta sighed. “What do you want advice on, woman?”

She beamed at him, and he couldn’t stop the side of his mouth from twitching upwards. He liked being the cause of her smile a little bit too much. It felt almost as good as winning a fight. Maybe even more than almost.

“Well,” she began, clasping her hands in front of her, “I’ve been trying to get more focused with my workout regimen and was wondering if you might have any ideas about what areas I should work on first.”

His smirk stretched into a full-fledged grin as she planted her hands on her hips, practically inviting him to scrutinize her tempting body. Maybe a few days ago, he would have been disgusted by her forwardness, but it seemed she had already worked her way beneath his skin.

Putting on his most serious expression, he let his dark eyes trail over her, assessing as critically as he could manage. Her neck was long and slender, utterly kissable. Her arms were trim and firm, just defined enough to look fit without sacrificing femininity.  
He boldly let his gaze linger on her chest for a few seconds, admiring the hint of cleavage displayed by her sports bra. Her nipples hardened and became visible beneath the fabric as he watched, and he forced his eyes to move on before something else hardened and became visible to her own observant gaze.

Her stomach was defined, but still soft. And her legs. God, her legs. Firm, shapely, and in desperate need of being wrapped around his waist.

He stalked around behind her, gulping quietly to himself as he enjoyed the view.

“I can show you some single-leg exercises to get those glutes tightened up,” he offered, chuckling softly as her expression instantly turned murderous.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with her glutes — or any other part of her, for that matter — but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Ignoring her infuriated huffing, he made his way over to the shelves of dumbbells and spent the next half hour showing her several types of glute-targeting exercises. By the time he was ready to go back to his own training, she seemed to have recovered from her fit of pique.

Catching him completely off guard, she stepped boldly info his personal space, wrapping one slender arm around his shoulders as her pillow-soft lips caressed his cheek.

“Thank you,” she breathed against his skin before pulling back.

His fingertips trailed over satiny smoothness, and Vegeta realized that his hand had come to rest on the bare skin of her back. The entire encounter lasted a mere handful of seconds. It was over before he had a chance to properly react, and he couldn’t help the regret he felt as she pulled away.

It took every ounce of his monumental self-control to resist pulling her back into him. Instead, he acknowledged her thanks with a silent nod of his head before forcing himself to turn his back on her. He needed to put some distance between them if he was going to get anything productive done at all.

He didn’t see her again until his cool-down with the punching bag when she stopped on her way back from the locker room to hold it for him again. Accordingly, he adjusted the force of his blows to make sure he didn’t hurt her, though it was probably unnecessary. She was surprisingly sturdy for such a little thing. He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed.

“Show me how?” she asked after a few minutes with a flirtatious tilt of her head.

Vegeta nodded, feigning nonchalance, though he was only too happy to oblige if it meant another chance to stand close to her, to touch her. The smell of her skin was quickly becoming an addiction, and he needed another hit.

Smiling, Bulma circled around the bag to stand beside him, curling her tiny hands into fists in front of her.

“Thumbs under,” he instructed, fighting the urge to move the offending digits himself.

“Like this?” Bulma asked, adjusting her fingers.

Vegeta nodded, placing himself behind her, close enough to her mostly bare back to feel the heat of her small body against his chest. Unable to contain himself any longer, he let his fingertips rest lightly on the swells of her hips as he positioned her at a slight angle to the punching bag.

“Now, swivel your hips as you punch,” he instructed, close to her ear. Gooseflesh spread down her bare arms, and he wanted to purr with satisfaction that his closeness was affecting her. “Put your weight behind it.”

She punched the bag, and he smiled as it barely moved. He stood behind her, offering corrections here and there as she punched several more times. His hands lingered at her right hip and shoulder, presumably to remind her of the proper form.

He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that it was more than that. More than simple lust, even. That he would have easily been able to master. There was just something about this woman that appealed to a rarely-used side of himself. A gentler side. A side he simply couldn’t afford to indulge, no matter how appealing she might be.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he didn’t realize she had stopped punching and was now staring at him from the corner of her eye. At some point, he had started staring back, caught in her fathomless blue gaze like a bird paralyzed by the eyes of a snake.

Before he knew it, she had turned slightly towards him, just enough to twine her slender fingers through the sweat-dampened hair at his nape, and he was being drawn slowly towards her. His hands found her waist as her lips found his, lightly at first, then more forcefully with his tempered response.

Cracking one eye open, Vegeta glanced around him. They were the gym’s only two occupants, except for Baldy at the front counter, but the punching bag shielded them from his view. Seeing it was safe, he let himself go, turning her with his powerful hands until she was facing him fully.

Bulma sighed into his mouth as his lips pried hers apart, demanding entry. Her taste was a mixture of sweet and salty on his tongue, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

One of her clever hands had found its way beneath the hem of his shirt, flattening itself against his hard stomach as its partner tugged at his hair. He wanted those soft little hands everywhere, caressing every inch of his scar-dotted skin.

Slowly, feeling out her response, he let his hands slip downwards from her waist, pausing at her hips, before venturing lower, lower… She rose up on her toes and sighed into the kiss, granting him the permission he sought to cup her tempting backside in his hands.

Her response to his touch was more than he’d dared to hope for. She mewled into his mouth, her lips becoming nearly frantic against his as the hand on his stomach slipped tantalizingly up to caress his firm chest. Her nails scratched lightly at his skin, and he couldn’t hold back an aroused groan.

Suddenly, something vibrated in the pocket of his shorts, making him see stars.

“Fuck,” he growled in frustration as he hesitantly put a little space between him and the woman in his arms, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

He sent Raditz to his voicemail, wondering if he should chew him out or thank him when he called him back later. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to stop himself from taking things further with Bulma, and he was still completely uncertain of the wisdom of doing so. He needed time to think, to clear the cloud of lust from his head so that he was in control of himself again.

“May I?”

Bulma’s breathless voice broke through his silent reverie, and before he could stop himself, he was handing over his phone. When she handed it back, there was a new contact added with a phone number and email address, labeled simply ‘Bulma’ flanked by two pink heart emojis.

“It’s Friday, so I won’t be back at the gym until Monday,” she said, reaching down to pick up her bag. “Call me if you’d like some company this weekend.”

With a wink, she turned and strutted towards the exit, leaving Vegeta staring, open-mouthed, at her retreating figure.

The next morning, he had been almost on the verge on considering taking her up on her offer when he got a call from his manager, Nappa, with the news that one Capsule Corporation had offered him a sponsorship.

So she thought she could buy him too, did she? Just another pet fighter to add to her growing collection. Did she get off on the thought of having him groveling at her feet in gratitude? If so, she was going to be bitterly disappointed. He didn’t need her money, and he certainly didn’t need her.

His phone remained in his pocket, unused, as he trained long and hard through the weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is folks. Smutty Part II, as promised. 
> 
> Head canon: Vegeta is just as aggressive in the sack as he is everywhere else. o_o 
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time Monday rolled around, Bulma was seriously considering changing her workout schedule. Again. 

Vegeta hadn’t called, and she couldn’t help but feel the bitter sting of rejection. After the steamy kiss they shared, she’d been confident that they were on the same page. Now, not only had he ignored her all weekend; he had also turned down her sponsorship offer. 

He clearly wanted nothing further to do with her. She should just take her fine ass somewhere else to maintain its perfection. It’s not like his gym was only one in town.

But Bulma Briefs wasn’t one to tuck tail and run so easily. She had already altered her routine once to avoid a man. It would be a cold day in hell before she allowed that to happen again, especially when the man in question was someone she had known for all of a week. If Vegeta wanted to avoid seeing her, he would have to be the one to change. 

She strutted through the door with her head held high, not letting the sight of Vegeta’s massive pickup in its usual spot sway her determination. It was only when she caught a glimpse of him moving sinuously through his warmup stretches that her resolve began to falter. 

Her fascination with the quiet, enigmatic man had started as a challenge to stroke her bruised ego, but now…Now, she wasn’t sure what it was, only that she’d seen something in him that she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to just yet. 

Bulma had spent much of the weekend watching his previous fights online and reading what precious little information about him and his life was out there. Despite not being the biggest of guys, he steadfastly refused to get his weight down so he could compete in a lower division where he would have more of an advantage. She respected that tremendously. Most of his opponents were longer-limbed and a head taller than he, yet he held his own with a level of skill and determination she had only seen before in Goku. 

She re-watched last year’s championship match and wondered how she hadn’t noticed him back then. She’d been seated front and center, with Yamcha by her side. In the end, both fighters were bloodied almost beyond recognition. Goku was forced to put Vegeta out cold because, no matter what, he had refused to tap out. 

There was only a single article out there with some vague information about Vegeta’s past. He had been abandoned at a very young age and suffered a rough upbringing in the foster system. Most people with his backstory would either be dead or in prison by now, she speculated, but he had managed to free himself from that life with his admirable work ethic and determination. 

Bulma couldn’t believe she had underestimated him so drastically at first. That would teach her to judge a book by its grumpy, but sexy, cover.

Instead of heading to the locker room, Bulma found her designer heels taking her across the gym. She was the heavyweight in this fight, goddamnit. No way was she tapping out just yet. If he was going to reject her, he was going to have to do it to her face.

He looked up as she entered his line of sight, and she was pleased to see his eyes roam quickly over her pencil skirt-clad legs before he schooled his expression. Dark eyes focused ahead of him, he went back to his warmups, apparently determined to ignore her. 

Hah! If he thought that was possible, he must be more unobservant than she would have thought. 

“So…” she began, battling the urge to throw her shoe at him, “I hear you turned down my company’s offer to sponsor you for the championship fight.”

That got his attention. 

Vegeta jumped to his feet with alarming speed, his expression dark and stormy beneath his hood. 

“I don’t need your money. I refuse to owe you anything.”

Bulma’s mouth hung open in surprise. Owe her? Is that what he saw her gesture as? Just some way to get him in her debt? 

The nerve. As if Bulma Briefs needed to bribe anyone to sleep with her.

“Now look here, buddy, I know you don’t need my company’s money, and I certainly didn’t offer it so you would owe me anything.”

Hands gesturing wildly, she fixed him with her most withering glare.

“Did you ever stop to think that, just maybe, I thought it was a good business move? That maybe I recognized that you’re a damn good fighter with a really great shot at winning the championship?” 

If Vegeta’s dumbstruck expression was any indication, he had not thought about that. 

“Oh, yeah,” Bulma continued, “I’ve seen you fight, and I’ve seen how hard you work in here. I just so happen to think that if anyone has a chance to unseat Goku as champion, it’s you, you ungrateful SOB.” 

Vegeta’s expression softened, appearing almost chastened by her words, and Bulma’s ire dimmed a little. She’d already gathered enough information through her week-long observation not to expect an apology from him, so she didn’t wait for one. 

“Is that why you didn’t call?” she asked in a softer tone, trying to mask the hurt behind a forced smile. 

“I was…uh, busy.”

“Ah,” she responded, her smile faltering, “the old ‘I was busy’ excuse. I’ve used that one myself lots of times, but never on someone I really wanted to see. So…message received.”

Bulma paused for a second to see if he would contradict her. His sharply arched brows pulled down, casting his dark eyes into shadow. After several awkward seconds, he appeared on the verge of speaking, but Bulma cut him off.

“It’s okay, really. I can take a hint. You won’t be bothered by me anymore. See ya’ round, Vegeta.” 

She started to walk away, then turned back. This time, he actually met her gaze. 

“Oh, and, by the way…the sponsorship offer’s still open, if you change your mind.”

With that, she left him staring after her retreating form as she disappeared into the locker room. 

~0~

Bulma tried her best to keep her attention on her streaming show as she jogged on the treadmill, but it was hard when she could practically feel Vegeta glancing at her every few minutes. 

At first, she thought it was just wishful thinking. Every time she allowed herself a brief glance around, he seemed to be going about his training as usual. Eventually, though, she caught his eyes wandering in her direction. She might have chalked it up to coincidence, but then it happened again. And again. He wad definitely watching her. 

Bulma tried to tamp down the shard of hope that threatened to pierce her heart. Maybe he was still pissed at her. Maybe he was just watching to see if she would keep her promise not to bother him anymore. Maybe he was reconsidering accepting the sponsorship. She refused to let herself hope that he was reconsidering things with her. 

By the time her hour on the treadmill was up, Vegeta was nowhere to be seen. 

Despite her refusal to allow herself to hope, she was disappointed that he had left without speaking to her. She breathed a dejected sigh and made her way towards the locker room to collect her things. 

Bulma was so distracted by her own morose thoughts that the sudden appearance of a warm, rough hand on her wrist startled her. 

Her squeal of surprise echoed in the empty hallway as a shirtless Vegeta pulled her into the men’s locker room, pressing her back against the tile wall just inside. 

His lips descended on hers before Bulma could form a coherent thought, devouring her with even more passion than he had during their first kiss. 

No, Vegeta wasn’t the type to say he was sorry. Instead, Bulma felt his apology with every caress of his lips and every reverent touch of his hands on her body. They traced the graceful curve of her waist and hips as he leaned into her, trapping her between his heated skin and the cold tile of the wall.

Despite her initial surprise, Bulma was quick to respond. Her hands delved into his thick hair, tugging slightly as she held him against her. His tongue danced sensuously with hers, making her sigh with pleasure. She put every ounce of her newfound respect and admiration for him into the kiss, devouring his mouth with equal fervor. 

He had already removed his hoodie, leaving her sports bra as the only barrier between the overheated flesh of their torsos. Bulma couldn’t resist writhing against him as his rippled belly slid tantalizingly against hers. The hard jut of his arousal brushed her hip, and she felt her wetness seep into the crotch of her yoga pants. 

Too soon, Vegeta pulled back, resting his high forehead against hers. 

“Do you still want this?” he whispered, his warm breath caressing her face. 

Bulma’s insides quivered deliciously at the sound of his voice, deeper and huskier with arousal. 

“Y-yes.”

She nodded emphatically as she tugged on his hair and shoulders, trying to pull him back to her. 

Vegeta gave in to the insistent pressure of her hands, sinking against her with a helpless moan. His mouth returned to hers for only a moment before trailing across her cheek and moving down over the tender skin of her long neck, opening against her pulse to taste the drying sweat on her skin.

Bulma gasped and trembled as his hands found the straps of her sports bra. He tugged it down until it caught around her hips, and her pebbled nipples brushed against his bare chest.

“Fuck,” he groaned against her neck, gripping her hips almost convulsively in his hands. 

Bulma’s body cried out for him to continue, but the sound of a shower running in the background gave her pause. 

“Nobody’s in here, right?” she asked breathlessly, silently praying that they were alone. She didn’t think she could wait until they made it even as far as one of their vehicles. She needed him now. 

Vegeta shook his head, and she breathed a tremulous sigh of relief. 

With her gaze locked on his face, she hooked her fingers around the material at her hips, shimmying out of her displaced bra and yoga pants in one go. She toed out of her shoes as she kicked the clothing aside, leaving her completely bare to his ravenous gaze. 

Without further ado, Vegeta hoisted her up against him. Her bare legs wrapped around his waist, as he carried her towards the long row of showers. He must have turned one on before pulling her in here with him. It was already starting to fill the room with steam.

He placed her back on her feet outside the shower, kissing her deeply while he stepped out of his own sneakers. 

Bulma gasped as a forceful push coaxed her beneath the hot spray. Her back connected with the slick tiled wall, and Vegeta’s mouth was slanted over hers again, his hands slipping deliciously over her wet skin. 

When they broke apart for air, Bulma let her eyes roam greedily over him, a delicious pressure coiling deep in her belly as she watched thousands of water droplets run down over the dips and swells of his muscled torso. His thin training shorts were soaked through, riding low on his narrow hips. She could easily make out the outline of his straining arousal beneath the sodden material. 

Trailing her fingers down his side and over the swell of his hip, she stroked him through the clinging fabric, wringing a helpless moan from his lips.

“Ung…Bulma.” 

The sound of her name dripping from his tongue like honey raised gooseflesh on every inch of her body, despite the warmth of the water. She wanted to make him say it again and again as he came apart inside her. 

Bulma wrapped her hand around him one last time, noting with a satisfied purr that her fingertips didn’t touch, before raising both hands to his broad shoulders. With a delicate push, she flipped their positions, pressing him against the wall with her soft curves. 

Her knees met the unforgiving tile floor too quickly. They would certainly be bruised tomorrow, but she couldn’t have cared less. Her eager fingers were already hooking beneath his waistband, drawing the soaked material down his legs until it pooled at his feet with an audible ‘plop.’ 

She allowed herself to admire the long, thick perfection of him for a few seconds before dragging her tongue with tantalizing slowness along the underside, from root to tip. The skin of his lower belly quivered at the languid touch, and she smiled around his girth, taking him as deep inside her mouth as she could manage. 

Tilting her head back, Bulma greedily watched his reactions as she set a slow, teasing rhythm with her mouth and hands, blinking away the stray water droplets that fell in her eyes. His lips were parted as his chest heaved with every breath, those piercing dark eyes hooded with pleasure. 

With a gentleness few but her would know he possessed, he brushed her wet hair back from her face, gathering the strands that had come loose from her ponytail in his massive hands. 

Bulma couldn’t resist moving one of her hands down to ease the growing ache at her center. The slick wetness of her own arousal was starting to coat her inner thighs, mixing with the water that pelted down on them from above. 

With a fierce growl that signaled the end of Vegeta’s passivity, he tugged her up by her shoulders, causing his velvety length to slip from her lips with a wet ‘pop.” Before she was all the way upright, one of his long, rough fingers was inside her. 

She cried out helplessly as he flipped them so the cool tile was again at her back. 

Vegeta's free hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough for her to feel her own pulse pounding against his fingers. Nudging her legs further apart with one his knees, he slipped a second finger into her dripping pussy, curling them against a spot deep inside that made her mewl with pleasure. 

Bulma was in heaven. Fuck, how long had she been craving this? Too long. Years.

She had often tried to coax Yamcha into being less gentle in bed, but he had been too afraid of hurting her. As if she was actually that delicate. 

Bulma was a woman used to bossing men around. At least half her subordinates at work were men. Hell, even her male friends and relatives broke beneath her will like twigs snapping underfoot. The way Vegeta dominated her, pinning her helplessly with the latent strength she could feel coiled in those mouthwatering muscles, was everything. She could already sense an addiction forming, and he hadn’t even penetrated her with that thick, perfect cock yet. 

Still fucking her relentlessly with his fingers, Vegeta dipped his head to pull one pebbled nipple between his lips. The velvety feel of his mouth was almost too good. She heard herself gasp his name like a prayer, her pleasure-soaked voice echoing off the tile walls. A warm, full feeling pooled in her lower belly, and she felt herself tighten, gripping his fingers harder. 

“You gunna cum for me, Bulma?” 

His voice was deep and raspy against her ear as he leaned into her. His teeth scraped her lobe, biting down just hard enough to bestow the promise of pain.

“Yes!” Bulma gasped out, her hips rocking helplessly against his hand as she felt herself climb higher. 

With a desperate groan, Vegeta dropped to one knee in front of her, using his free hand to hook one of her thighs over his muscled shoulder. The fingers still inside her twisted deliciously as he trailed his other hand over her neatly-trimmed teal fuzz. He placed a gentle, reverent kiss where his fingers had just brushed, a sweet promise of more to come. 

Bulma threaded her trembling fingers through his wet hair, watching helplessly as he parted her glistening lips with his thumb and forefinger. His tongue darted out, wetting his own lips before tracing the outline of hers with torturous slowness, laving all around her clit while leaving it neglected and throbbing for his attention. 

“Please,” she plead in a breathy whisper, canting her hips towards him.

Vegeta smirked up at her, his black eyes glinting with wicked pleasure. He was enjoying this, torturing her. 

Damn him. 

He twisted his fingers inside her again, finding that perfect spot with deadly accuracy. She keened, bucking her hips towards him as his hot tongue finally found her clit with one long, languid stroke. 

The thigh that rested on his shoulder quivered as she felt herself teetering at the edge. His wicked tongue worked in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers, leaving her a sobbing, begging mess above him. 

“That’s a good girl,” Vegeta whispered against her, his hot breath caressing her oversensitive skin. “Cum for me.”

Bulma’s fingers twisted in his hair with enough force to cause pain, but his relentless assault didn’t waver. Her hips rocked against his mouth as the pleasure coiled tighter, then burst, sending jolts of pure bliss shooing outwards from where his tongue teased her skin.

As her orgasm began to ebb, so did her strength. Her leg quivered, her foot losing purchase on the wet tiles. 

“Shit!” she gasped, a combination of surprise and bliss, as he easily caught her before gravity could take its toll.

Her feet didn’t touch the ground again. Instead, he hoisted her up against him, pinning her to the wall with his weight as she struggled to hook her shaking legs over his hips. 

Vegeta lifted his fingers, glistening with her cum, to his mouth, looking her dead in the eye as he sucked them clean with a satisfied moan. She whimpered at the erotic sight, digging her nails into his broad shoulders.

With a groan, he grasped the backs of her knees in his hands, opening her so completely her thighs nearly touched the tile behind her. 

“I’m gunna fuck that pretty little pussy now,” he growled as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

“Oh, god, yes!”

Her muscles burned from the stretch, but the pain was quickly overshadowed by the feel of his plump head nudging against her entrance, sinking in a little further with each rhythmic sway of his hips. 

Vegeta sighed a string of expletives as they both watched him slide into her, inch by delicious inch, until he was buried to the hilt in her tight, wet heat. 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Bulma whimpered, feeling deliciously full and stretched. 

“You too,” Vegeta whispered against her lips, drawing her in for a deep, searing kiss as he gradually increased the tempo. 

Bulma’s keening cries mixed with his deeper moans as he pounded her hard against the slick tile wall. The steaming water ran down over their joined bodies like a heated caress. 

Her entire being cried out for her to move against him, but Bulma was completely at his mercy, trapped by the strong hands cradling the backs of her thighs. She could only tug at his hair and drag her nails over the slick skin of his upper back, as wet flesh slapped against wet flesh. 

Vegeta’s hands slipped down from her thighs to grasp her firm ass as he stepped back, pulling her away from the wall. Without missing a beat, he lifted her over him before slamming her back down, his fingers gripping her yielding flesh hard enough to leave bruises bearing his fingerprints. 

Bulma encircled his waist with her legs as he slammed her hips repeatedly against his, the bulging muscles of his chest and arms undulating with each movement. 

“God, Vegeta,” she crooned, her arms encircling his thick neck. “I love how strong you are.”

That earned her a growl and an especially forceful thrust. Her breasts bounced with their movements, and Vegeta freed a hand to capture one in a firm, but gentle grasp. Her hardened nipple rasped deliciously against his calloused palm. 

Mustering all her strength, Bulma clung to Vegeta’s shoulders for leverage and undulated against him, her arms and legs burning with exertion as she strained to get even closer. Her clit rubbed teasingly against the hard ridges of his abs with each thrust, bringing her ever closer to the pinnacle of bliss. 

Too soon, Vegeta’s rhythm slowed. She watched as his eyes drifted closed and his mouth hung open. He was coiled like a spring beneath her, ready to explode at any second. 

Those burning black eyes opened, locking on hers. The white-hot intensity in them made her moan in anticipation. 

Spanning her tiny waist with his hands, he lifted her off of him, earning a small mewl of protest that quickly transformed into a needy moan as he spun her around, the bulk of his chiseled body pressing her front into the shower wall. The tile felt pleasantly cool against her pebbled nipples. 

Taking her hips in a forceful grip, he tugged her back from the wall a little, forcing her to flatten her palms against the tile for balance. Without warning, one of his hands raised and came back down on her ass cheek with just enough sting to make her toes curl on the wet tile floor. 

“Yes! Harder,” she encouraged, and he readily obeyed, slapping her other cheek before gripping her sagging ponytail in his fist. 

“Oh, yeah. Fuck me,” Bulma keened as he positioned himself, pushing into her with a punishing thrust that forced her onto her tiptoes.

“Yes!”

Her back arched as he tugged on her hair, and her ass slapped wetly against his hips with every thrust. He wasn’t being gentle, no. But she had never felt safer or more cherished with anyone, not even men she’d dated for years. 

“I want you to cum for me again,” he rasped against her neck, the hand holding her hip slipping around to tease her clit. 

“Oh, yes!”

Bulma reached behind her to grasp his muscled thigh, her nails leaving deep indentations in his skin as she pushed back against him. She was so close to tumbling over the edge, she could almost taste it. 

As she started fluttering around him, Vegeta quickened his pace, angling his thrusts to hit that perfect place inside her as he worked her clit with his fingers. 

“Fuck, yes! That’s it! Ahhhh…” 

He roared in her ear as she squirmed back against him, crying his name as she came hard around his throbbing cock. His hand released her hair and slipped around her front to cup her breasts. She felt the desperation in his grasp as he slowed slightly, letting her come down from her high. 

The hand on her clit slid away to curl around her hip, and suddenly he was thrusting into her wildly, the precision and control he’d maintained thus far slipping away like water down the drain. Bulma let her head loll back against his shoulder, his deep, pulsing strokes drawing out the last sparks of her orgasm. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m gunna cum!” His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, drawing a final, helpless whimper from hers before he pulled out and took himself in his own hand. 

Bulma braced her palms against the tile wall, her backside presented like an offering, as she greedily watched him come apart behind her, releasing onto the angry red handprint he’d left on her white cheek. 

Vegeta collapsed against her from behind, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. 

“Shit, that was amazing,” Bulma gasped, her chest heaving with every labored breath.

“Mmm,” he replied, his hot breath tickling her skin. 

Bulma felt sore, exhausted, and thoroughly used. And she had never been more blissfully, completely sated in her life. 

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated behind her. 

“What?” she asked, turning to look at Vegeta’s grinning face over her shoulder. He looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. He was so handsome, it took her breath away all over again. 

“I should have at least made you buy me a drink first,” he teased, giving her a playful tap on the behind before stepping away to reach for the soap.

Did Mr. Serious just crack a joke? Wonders would certainly never cease. 

Bulma smiled back at him as an idea began to form in her mind.

“Well, do you have any extra clothes?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Of course.” 

Her smile widened, and she raised herself onto her toes to peck him on the cheek. 

“Meet me outside in twenty,” she whispered breathily before grabbing a towel to wrap around herself, hobbling on shaky legs to the women’s locker room.

She had a hot date to get ready for.

~0~

The arena crowd was loud and boisterous. Bulma was glad she had VIP seats, which gave her some insulation from the screaming mob. 

Not that she could blame them for being excited. The heavyweight championship fight was about to begin, and it was bound to be one for the history books. 

She smiled at Goku as he grinningly threw a few warm-up punches into the air. A familiar pair of eyes locked with hers, and her smile faded into an annoyed scowl.

It had been too much to hope that Yamcha wouldn’t be here. He was one of Goku’s best friends, after all. 

They hadn’t seen each other since she had officially broken things off. She couldn’t imagine why he looked so happy to see her. If their past was any indication, he would be expecting her ire to have dimmed by now, giving him an opening to worm his way back into her life. 

Well, not this time.

Bulma sighed as he materialized beside her, raising her beer to her lips for a long drink.

“Hey, B,” Yamcha greeted her with a sort of cheerful hesitancy. 

“Hey, Yamcha,” she responded, sounding bored. 

“You here to cheer Goku on?” 

Bulma suppressed the urge to smile at the perfect opening he’d just given her. 

“Sort of,” she answered cooly, keeping her poker face firmly in place. “Mostly, I’m here to support my boyfriend.”

Yamcha’s eyes went wide. 

“B-boyfriend?” 

As if on cue, the announcer introduced Vegeta, who stepped confidently into the ring wearing his fiercest scowl and a pair of shorts with a massive Capsule Corp. logo emblazoned across the back. 

Bulma grinned lasciviously at the sight. 

“Yeah. Here he is now,” she explained with a tilt of her head in Vegeta’s direction. 

Yamcha looked aghast. 

“W-what?” he stuttered. “You’re dating Vegeta Prince? How did you two even meet?”

Bulma’s expression turned sly. 

“Let’s just say the few weightlifting lessons you gave me finally paid off,” she answered cryptically, her eyes still glued to Vegeta’s proud form. 

As if sensing her gaze on him, he turned, his dark eyes finding hers like magnets. A quiet murmur went through the crowd behind her as his expression transformed, softened into a cocky grin. 

Vegeta held up two fingers in a gesture of acknowledgement, which Bulma smilingly returned, before striding to the center of the ring, ready and eager to face his opponent. 

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Trunks came along, and they got married. Vegeta eventually had to retire from fighting and embrace his true calling as stay-home dad and trophy husband. He may or may not have started a fight club chapter, but because of the first rule of fight club, we'll never know. The end. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on tumblr under 1VulgarWoman.


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